Death's Twilight

by A. J. Leavens

  ****

  Packed and ready to go, Slade took the tube down to the parking garage. As the tube descended the two floors, he was able to see through the tubes windows that the offices on the first floor were empty. He checked his chronometer: Noon. His stomach grumbled as a reminder that, in all the excitement of this morning, he had forgotten to eat.

  Slade pressed his index finger to the pad on the driver's door. His fingerprint unlocked the hover, allowing access to the cabin inside.  Each Alpha's hover was coded to them and them alone. Opening the trunk, he stowed his duffle. Starting the hover, Slade turned on the music player, and selected his favorite artist, The Beatles. Music in his day was this heavy bass, syncopated thing, with high-pitched squeals punctuating throughout. They called it Dubstep, but he just didn't get it.  He needed lyrics. The fact that all of The Beatles had been dead for almost two hundred and fifty years didn't matter. They were his band.

  Slade attached the restraint harness, and transferred his trip notes to the windshield. He would study on the way to lunch. Two birds, one stone, his Dad always used to say.

  "Sarah, initiate auto-drive sequence. Authorization 0247893 Alpha." Everyone named their hovers. Slade had named his Sarah, after a girl he knew from Beta class.

  "Voice recognition accepted. Good afternoon, Slade. Where shall I take you today?"

  "I need lunch, Sarah. Where would you suggest?"

  "Analysis of your composition indicates you are deficient in Calcium and Iron. Might I suggest a cheeseburger and a large chocolate shake from Melrose?"

  Slade smiled. Sarah knew him so well. "Sounds great, Sarah. Please drive."

  As they travelled to his favorite local burger joint, he studied the documentation known about Randy Emery Herman. Herman had murdered Government officials. His scrolled slowly on the window in front of him: Two counts of break and enter, three counts of fraud, and four convictions for first-degree murder. He had been sent to the Penal Territory forty years ago, but had escaped three weeks ago.

  He already knew Herman was spotted in Ukraine Territory, so Slade knew where he was, generally, at least, but he didn't know how he got there. Washington and his officers established the Australian continent as a Penal Territory shortly after settling everything down. Anyone convicted of a crime worse than theft was sent there for rehabilitation. Usually they didn't come back, and they most certainly didn't escape. Once you were loaded on the transport for the Penal Territory, you were forgotten. That's just how it was.

  Sarah found him a spot a few meters from Melrose, and she parked. Slade closed all open information windows, and put Sarah in standby. Exiting the vehicle, he was surprised at the amount of foot traffic on Seventeenth Avenue.  Despite the fact that it was lunchtime, there was almost never this much foot traffic on any sidewalk.

  A blinking light caught his attention, and he looked up at the street lamp, noticing a green wreath hanging near the top, with a bright red ribbon tied neatly into a bow near the top. Lights were strung from lamppost to lamppost – red and green, alternating. It took him a minute to realize that these people were out Christmas shopping. Shaking his head, he stepped to the door, opened it, and was greeted by Haley, one of the joint's waitresses.

  "Slade! How are you? It's been a while since you've been in. Sticking around, or to go today, hun?"

  Slade smiled. The familiarity felt nice. In a solitary existence like his, it was great to be acknowledged.

  "I'll stay, thanks."

  Haley escorted him to a booth on the far side of the joint. As they passed by the vintage jukebox, Slade heard the unmistakable sounds of his favorite band playing. "Twist and Shout" was an upbeat number that always set his toes to tapping.

  "Great track," he said as we arrived at his booth. "How did you –?"

  "Sarah let us know you were coming."

  "Of course she did." Slade was amazed. When had his hover learned to do that?

  Slade took a seat facing the street, watching the crowd as they streamed past the windows out front. Haley came back a minute later with a chocolate shake in a glass that was at least half a meter tall. Whipped cream and a cherry graced the top of the shake, and Haley had shaken some chocolate sprinkles on for effect. It was exactly the way he liked it.

  "Sarah again?" Slade enquired.

  Haley smiled, nodding and added: "Your burger will be out in a few minutes. Relax hun."

  He leaned back in the booth, glancing around the joint. Patrons happily munched on burgers and chips. Melrose didn't synthesize anything, preferring instead to make their fare the "homemade" way – from before The Great Fire. He didn't mind that one bit. No matter the make of synthesizer, no machine could make a burger like Melrose.

  Slade sipped at his shake, enjoying the rich chocolate flavor and the feel of the cool ice cream on his tongue. It was the simple pleasures, really, that he enjoyed the most. A few minutes later his burger arrived, and Slade set to work making it disappear. As he was finishing the last bite, a man in his twenties approached his booth cautiously.

  "Excuse me, Emissary. My name is Mack York. I'm a third year Beta, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions."

  Slade looked at his chronometer. It was one-thirty in the afternoon. His flight didn't leave for another six hours, and he was already packed.

  "Be seated, Beta York. I have a Letter to deliver, but I can spare some time for your questions."

  "Thank you, Emissary. I won't keep you long."

  Slade motioned to Haley, who brought over two chocolate shakes. She set one in front of each man.

  "Thank you!" Mack sat, genuinely surprised. Alphas and Betas never associated except in the training rooms or theory classrooms. Alphas stayed in The College, and Betas usually stayed with their parents until they attained Alpha status. The fact that Mack had mustered enough courage to approach him was an indication that his questions had some serious weight to them.

  "So what's on your mind, Beta York?"

  York never got a chance to ask his first question. As he opened his mouth to speak, Slade's chronometer chirped, and he glanced down at the display. There was a message from Control: Flight early. Be at terminal in twenty-five minutes.

  "I must apologize. It seems my flight has been bumped up. Please look for me in three days time here at Melrose." Slade stood, offering his hand, which York shook. He looked crestfallen. It would have to wait till Slade returned.

  "Of course, Emissary." He sat again, and then took a sip from his shake.

  Slade settled the tab with Haley, and headed off to Sarah.

  He allowed Sarah to auto-drive. It gave him time to change his Emissary uniform – apparently he had spilled some ketchup and barbecue sauce on his shirt - and to have another study of the information Control had given him on Herman.

  Slade parked Sarah on the top level of the parking garage. As an Alpha, he had priority parking, complete with a covered, heated stall, direct access to the terminal, and priority checkout upon his return. Being an Emissary sure had its bonuses. He placed Sarah in hibernation mode, grabbed his duffle from the trunk and set the alarm. As Slade approached the sliding doors to the airport terminal, people scurried out of their way. No one wanted to be connected with an Emissary.  An Emissary meant change.